


The Arbor of Your Heart

by Shadaras



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Slice of Life, The Circle and Niko are around too for a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: There is time for healing, and for rest, and for togetherness. Crane helps take care of Rosethorn after the plague, in a quiet time when the Circle is on an expedition, and it's just him, Lark, and Rosethorn at Discipline Cottage.





	The Arbor of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded from an anon tumblr prompt: ["Lark/Rosethorn/Crane, after the plague"](http://shadaras.tumblr.com/post/177944410386)

“I’m _fine_ ,” Rosethorn snapped, and the plants near her leaned in to support her. Crane gently rested his hand on her too-thin shoulder and squeezed. Emotion might give her tongue its old strength back, but only in the moment, even with green things around her.

Briar scowled back, opening his mouth to retort. Crane cut him off before the sparks in Tris’ hair could become anything bigger. “I’ll be here.” He looked around at the quartet arrayed before him in various defensive postured, and privately thought that Niko was far braver than he; taking them on a week-long trip to a nearby island was going to cause any number of headaches. “Lark and I can make sure she takes care of herself. You know that.”

Tris grabbed Briar’s hand and tugged him back. “Are you staying at Discipline?” Her voice still had an edge, but he heard the need to fit things into their place, the same edge of order that made her Crane’s favorite new assistant.

Rosethorn nodded before Crane got over his surprise at the question; he hadn’t yet talked to either Rosethorn or Lark about it yet. But he said, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Tris said.

And, somehow, that was that. Briar dug his toes into the ground, and didn’t look happy—but that wasn’t something Crane thought he was capable of just yet. Nerves and a big heart, at least as big as Rosethorn’s own, and not enough stability yet to settle it down. He followed Tris’ lead in returning to Discipline, though not without another backwards glance. Crane heard Tris say, “They can both argue with her. It’s fine.” and Briar mutter in response, “That’s what I’m afraid of,” before they disappeared through the door.

Daja leaned on her staff and met his eyes square-on, almost uncomfortable in her seriousness as she sized him up and apparently found him agreeable, since she turned and walked back into Discipline while saying, “I’ll finish packing, then.”

Niko followed her in while Sandry lingered. All her noble ancestry rode over her gangly child’s form as she said, “You’d better listen,” to Rosethorn.

Rosethorn smiled. “I w—wi—will.”

“Go on,” Crane said, amused. “You need to catch the tide.”

Sandry nodded and ran back into the cottage, that noble bearing disappearing in an instant as she remembered how to be a child. Crane smiled after her; they weren’t his children, but he understood how Lark and Rosethorn could love them so, after these past few months.

Crane sat down on the ground next to Rosethorn’s chair as quiet descended around them in the garden. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up and felt for her pulse: strong, despite her body’s frailty. Always a strong heart, Rosethorn, and a kind one, beneath her pricks.

Less than an hour later, impressively, Niko herded not just the children but their dog Little Bear out of the cottage. They all waved and shouted final injunctions and their temporary farewells, and Crane smothered a laugh at how harried Niko already looked. “I hope he has help,” Crane murmured to Rosethorn.

“Need,” Rosethorn mumbled. Her fingers clenched on his shoulder, frustration evident in her voice’s lack of facility.

But she didn’t press it, this time, and so Crane said, “Yes. He does need it.”

As they fell silent once more, he rested his head on the arm of Rosethorn’s chair and let her stroke his hair, an indulgence they rarely had time or desire for. But today, with the sun and the solitude, it was permissible, and it was needful, and it was good.

Crane watched the clouds bloom in silence as the sun slowly travelled across the sky, meditating to the rhythm of Rosethorn’s fingers and her own steady inhales. Time was immaterial, but it was wonderful and rare to have this time.

Eventually, as the shadows covered his feet, he said, “Lark will be home soon.”

Rosethorn glanced down at him, eyebrows raised in a familiar expression. _So?_ it conveyed. _Stop stating the obvious. Why should I care?_

Crane smiled faintly. “It’s been a long time since it’s been just the three of us.”

Rosethorn snorted. “You—” Her tongue tripped, and she scowled. “F— fa—”

With patience that Crane supposed surprised many of the initiates, he waited for her to finish telling him that it was his fault they hadn’t had time together. Interrupting her would just make it worse, and then she’d need to swear at him too. 

“I know,” he said, once she finished and looked at him. “But when you have the kids around—”

Crane had never fully appreciated the expressiveness of Rosethorn’s face, but her look of _You’re an idiot_ came through perfectly without any need for words.

“I’m here now,” he said instead. “For as long as you need me.”

She sniffed, and closed her eyes. _You’d better be,_ Crane translated, but he didn’t say anything in return, just sat with Rosethorn in her garden and let her sleep, sunlit, in silence.

After another fifteen minutes of being unable to return to meditation, Crane slowly stood. Rosethorn stayed where she was, even when he placed her hand on the arm of her chair instead of allowing it to continue dangling. He couldn’t be sure she was actually asleep and not simply pretending or deep in her own meditation, but it was easier to assume she was.

He started methodically going around the garden. Briar had been taking care of it under Rosethorn’s eye, of course, so Crane didn’t expect there would be much for him to do. It was habit, though, and comforting; Rosethorn’s gardens were fertile in a very different way than his own, and gently pulling newborn weeds and coiling tomatoes back onto their trellises was just as soothing here as it would be in his greenhouses.

Lark found them there, her step dancer-light but familiar, and the gate just creaky enough despite its constant care to make a noise. Crane looked up at her, and smiled.

Without reservation, she smiled back, and came forward to embrace him. He untangled his fingers from the vines as she approached, and wrapped his arms around her without worrying about the dirt; her clothes would shed it, and its scent lingered on her regardless, Rosethorn’s gift. He murmured into her ear, “I wanted to let her rest.”

She kissed his cheek. “I know, dear.”

“Oh—Niko finally convinced the children to go with him, and they left this afternoon.”

Lark leaned against him, and he tightened his arms around her as tension he hadn’t realized she was carrying drained out of her. “I know; they stopped by the temple to say their goodbyes. And Mila preserve Niko, but I am so glad he offered to do this.”

“I know.” Crane kissed her hair, smoothed a hand over her back. “They mean well, but they hover.”

“Gods preserve us from hovering children,” Lark murmured, laughter in her voice.

Rosethorn’s voice broke through the gentle moment with a stuttered, “Hey!” and they both turned to face her.

Crane smiled, and walked back to Rosethorn; his arm was still around Lark, and hers around him, and she followed beside him smoothly enough to make him feel awkward despite his comfort in his body. “I know, love,” he said, kneeling next to her (Lark descending gracefully at his side) and wrapping her up too. “Wouldn’t do to leave you out.”

Rosethorn harrumphed, but Crane could feel her smile against his cheek, and saw how she leaned into Lark’s touch. “I’m gl—glad you’re here,” Rosethorn said, the words slow but clear in her mouth.

Lark pressed their foreheads together, all three of them in the garden, and said, “I am too, my dear.”


End file.
